Stress Headaches
by HollidayMourner
Summary: When even England's magic fails to get rid of his God-awful headaches, it's up to America to be the hero (once again) and help England with his little... issue. ;) Warnings: Smut. DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Hetalia. First attempt at smut, but I'm fairly proud of it.


**A/N: It took me a little while to finish this, but it's finally done! :D This is my first attempt at smut, so I apologize in advance.**

**Warnings: Smut, France**

**Enjoy and don't forget to review :)**

The numerous arguments and conversations taking place in the conference room rose to an ear-splitting level, forcing England to lay his head on the table and cover his ears to try and block out the noise as best he could. For once, he wasn't a part of the arguments, and he finally understood why the other countries got so frustrated with them. He couldn't even hear himself think.

Suppressing a groan, England squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that the darkness behind his eyelids would help ease the pain of his headache. It didn't. If anything, the voices of the arguing nations seemed to grow louder, grating against his eardrums.

England felt a hesitant presence beside him. Barely lifting his head, his eyes landed on a slight build clothed in a wrinkle-free, white military uniform. Japan.

With a sigh of relief, England sat up, resisting the urge to massage his temples. At least Japan wouldn't try to drag him into a pointless argument. "Hello, Japan," he greeted. "Some meeting we're having today, huh?" His voice was bitter.

"Are you ill, England-san? You do not look well." The small nation took France's empty seat beside England.

England's attention was diverted from his reserved friend as France and America's argument escalated, the two nations now swinging fists at one another. Most of the blows went wild, missing their intended target by a long shot, but the few that did connect were accompanied by a dull _thwack_. England watched as Spain and Mexico tried to separate the two, his attention absorbed momentarily by the scuffle. Japan watched the fight as well, not nearly as enthralled as England, but mildly curious.

A few moments later, after America and France had been successfully separated and were once again just yelling insults at one another, England shook his head and turned his attention back to Japan. He asked the Asian nation to repeat his question, and that he apologizes but his attention had been drawn elsewhere. The Japanese man nodded once in understanding and repeated his concerns.

England sighed and leaned his head back. "I have this unbelievable headache," England explained. He raised his hands to his head and massaged his temples as if to get his point across. "I just can't make it go away, no matter what I do. And those idiots aren't helping." He indicated the argument again, where now Germany had stepped in and was trying to force the two nations back to their seats.

"If I may make a suggestion, England-san, maybe you should try meditating." Japan's voice was quiet, yet concerned.

England looked at Japan, skeptical. "Meditating?"

"Yes. When you are alone in your hotel room, sit in a comfortable position and clear your mind. It helps me when I am feeling frustrated."

England cocked his head to the side, thinking. Meditating was something he'd never tried before, but he was willing to do anything if it got this headache to go away. The spell he had cast that morning had seemed only to make it worse, and if it helped Japan stay calm, then it was bound to work. The Asian nation never seemed to be anything but calm, cool, and collected.

England finally nodded as Japan stood up and made his way back to his seat on the other side of the table. "I'll try that. Thank you, Japan." The other nation nodded as he took his seat.

Just then, Germany slammed his fist down on the table. "I have had enough!" he shouted. America and France froze, along with every other bickering nation in the conference room. "Because of idiots like you, we can never get anything finished in a meeting. If you're not going to learn how to behave yourselves, then don't bother showing up at the next meeting. Now get out of here, all of you!" Germany's face was red from the neck up, his breaths coming in short huffs as he struggled to control his temper.

America and France scurried out of the conference room ahead of everyone else, their chins tucked against their chests.

England lingered behind everyone else, pretending to take extra care in gathering and reorganizing his paperwork. When he finally glanced up from the table, he found that he was alone. With a sigh of relief, England packed his papers away and exited the building, heading towards the hotel he and the other nations would be staying in for the duration of their visit. Thankfully, England would be leaving tomorrow afternoon to attend to things back home. If Japan's meditation technique didn't work, leaving for home would.

A group of high school girls was clustered by the entrance to the hotel, peering in through the glass. When England drew closer, he could hear their muffled giggles and squeals. Their giggling grew quiet as England approached, but when he opened the door he could hear a fresh wave of the obnoxious laughter following him inside. Rolling his eyes, England stepped farther inside and let the door bang shut behind him, cutting off the girls' mid-giggle.

And that was when he found out what the girls were gawking at.

France. On one knee, in the middle of the lobby. Offering a rose to a beautiful young woman. Standing a little behind the woman was a large man with an angry expression on his face, his fists clenched at his sides. There was a young boy clinging to the woman's hand and staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at France. And there was a noticeable baby bump protruding from underneath the tank top the woman was wearing.

England, just like every other person in the vicinity, stopped and gaped at the scene before him.

"Oh, madame, how your skin glows and your eyes twinkle in the light," France wooed, offering the rose to the woman. "Your beauty is like a light that has led me home at last after years of being lost at sea. Your eyes, so deep a blue they could easily be mistaken as the ocean itself. Oh, how you remind me so much of home yet so much of the future."

England shook his head to clear it, muttering to himself about France's behavior. He shuffled towards the stairs that would lead to his room on the third floor, not daring to bother with the elevator on the other side of the lobby. In order to reach that, he'd have to pass through France's field of vision, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Just as England was about to step onto the stairs and disappear, France called out his name and excused himself from the increasingly-awkward situation by the front desk with yet another compliment and his best wishes for the baby. Groaning, England ignored France and trudged up the stairs, trying his best to ignore the increasing throbbing in his head.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shrugged it off and continued up the stairs. France cried out in indignation and followed England, grabbing at his clothes and calling for him to wait.

At the top of the landing, France grabbed a fistful of England's shirt, yanking him backwards. England felt his back bump against France's chest, and the Frenchman's arms were around his waist immediately. France's breath tickled his ear as he whispered, "Just where do you think_ you're_ going, Angleterre?"

England's body tensed as he struggled against France's grip. France tightened his hold and flicked his tongue along the edge of England's ear. A shiver ran down his spine at the unwelcome feeling.

"You've been avoiding me, Angleterre, and I don't think I appreciate it..." France murmured in mock hurt. He leaned against England and caught the tip of his ear between his teeth in a gentle love bite. England cringed and fought twice as hard to escape France, but he only succeeded in unbalancing himself. The two nations tumbled to the floor. As they fell, England tried to twist out of France's grasp, but the only thing he managed to do was entangle their limbs and clothes.

England realized (a little too late) that what he'd done had been a mistake.

France landed on top of the British nation, his face hovering inches above England's. Their legs were entwined and their hips pressed uncomfortably together. France's chest rubbed against England's as they breathed, both their hearts beating wildly from the shock of collapsing so suddenly.

England was stunned, having had cracked his head against the landing when they fell. As he laid there, his vision doubled and his thoughts were jumbled. The rushing of blood in his veins roared in his ears, drowning out France as he began to chuckle darkly.

England only snapped back to reality when he felt France's lips ghost over his. His eyes widened and he struggled beneath France, but that only managed to grind their pelvises together awkwardly and send a shot of stabbing pain into the back of his skull.

One of France's hands gripped England's shoulder, pinning him to the floor. The other hand trailed down his body, sending shivers up England's spine. His breath caught in his throat when France's fingers played with the buckle on his belt.

"France, you bloody frog, get - " England choked out. His words were cut off when France ran a hand lightly over England's crotch, eliciting a strangled gasp from the man beneath him. England could feel his face reddening as France chuckled above him, massaging his growing erection through his pants.

"Oh, Angleterre," France purred, swooping in and nipping at England's bottom lip, "and here I always thought you hated me." He took England's bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled on it, sucking on the abused flesh whenever England shifted underneath him.

England whimpered beneath France, jerking his face away from him. His blush burned on his face as he struggled weakly beneath the Frenchman, embarrassed that his body would betray him like that.

France _tsk_ed him as his mouth latched on to the hollow at the base of England's throat. England gasped and his eyes widened. His erection twitched in his pants, but he refused to give in. Not to bloody France, of all people.

Still struggling, England choked out, "I don't want this. Get the bloody hell... off me." He gasped and shut his eyes as France nipped his collarbone, a little too harshly.

"Don't lie to me, Angleterre," France warned, his voice low. "Your body wants this." France dipped his head again to continue sucking and kissing on England's neck. But before his lips could latch on, France was lifted off England with a squeak.

England opened his eyes, more relieved than he could ever remember being. America stood above him on the landing, holding France in the air by the back of his shirt.

"What are ya doin', dude?" America asked France, narrowing his eyes at the other nation. America's glasses hung on the tip of his nose, and they glinted in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

France stammered and held his hands up, as if to say that he meant no harm. "Come, come, Amerique, we were only playing around. Dear Angleterre needed my help, did you not?" France glanced at England, who was still sprawled on the floor, staring up at America in a daze.

"Mon ami?" France inquired, tilting his head to the side. There was a pleading tone to his voice, and it sent a rush of amusement through England's body to hear France so worried. He wanted to laugh at the other nation. He wanted to tell him that it was his own fault for groping him and he deserved whatever America did with him. He wanted to cross his legs and hide the fact that what France had been doing to him had turned him on. He wanted to stomp up the stairs to his hotel room, fix his steadily-growing problem, and then meditate until he was too tired and relaxed to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep. He wanted to come up with some lame excuse to explain the tent in his pants and how it definitely hadn't had _anything_ to do with France's touching him. But all he could do was lay sprawled out on the landing, staring, dumbfounded, at his former colony and France, his mouth hanging open in shock.

America huffed and dropped France, who stumbled a bit on the stairs. "Dude, look what you did. You broke him," America observed, shooting France a nasty glare.

"He's not - " France began.

"Go away." America's voice was low, and his words were clipped. France paled and backed up a few steps, his hands held up in surrender. Then his eyes narrowed as he spun around and headed back toward the lobby, muttering in French.

When he was gone, America glanced down at England and smiled, crouching beside him on the landing. "Waiting for the hero to carry you off into the sunset, Artie?" America asked, his smile teasing.

England sputtered and shot up into a sitting position, regretting the quick movement immediately. His head reeled and a stab of pain sliced through his skull, making him groan and press the heels of his palms against his forehead.

"Whoa, dude," America exclaimed. "Are you okay? France totally hurt you, didn't he? That's okay, I'll protect you. It's my job as the hero." America grinned down at England, gathering the older nation into his arms as if it were nothing.

England protested weakly as his head reeled from the sudden motion. He glowered up at America, blushing slightly at the feel of the strong arms around his body. England wrapped his arms around America's neck, (_just in case he drops me_, he thought) and held on tight, ignoring the tightening in his chest and the pounding of his heart. His member continued to harden, the comfort of his pants decreasing rapidly. As America carried him the rest of the way up the stairs, England closed his eyes and prayed that the younger nation wouldn't notice his... _issue_.

England's mind began to wander as they ascended the staircase. Without his sight, he knew only the warmth of the arms wrapped around him. He could feel the ripple of the chest muscles against his side. The pounding of America's heart was in time with his, hammering against his skin and sending shock waves through his body.

When England shivered, America clutched him tighter against his chest and continued walking. He chatted the whole time he walked, but England wasn't aware of what he was saying. America's voice was the only thing he blocked from his senses.

America had stopped walking and now stood in front of England's hotel room door, but the Brit was unaware of the change of pace, his eyes still closed to the world and his senses still being bombarded by the American's body heat and muscularity. He jerked when he felt America's hand patting his front pockets, his fingers landing a little too close to England's crotch. He could hear America grumbling to himself about something, his hands still searching.

England cried out in surprise and threw himself from America's arms, his body instantly shivering from the lack of heat from the taller man. "What do you think you're doing?" he exclaimed, straightening out his clothes and huffing indignantly, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

America blinked at him. "Dude, where's your key?"

England's face grew even hotter and he turned away, fishing the key from his back pocket. He ignored America's cry of "Dude, I totally could have gotten that if you had told me where it was" and unlocked the door. When he stepped inside and flicked the light switch on, he could feel America following him inside. He tried his best to ignore the other nation as he kicked off his shoes, hung up his suit jacket, and loosened his tie.

America made ignoring him highly impossible when he plopped down on the sofa beside England, flinging his arm around the smaller male. England tensed and tried to scoot away, but America's arm was tight around his shoulders. "Where ya going, Artie?" America chuckled, smiling down at England.

Grimacing at the awful nickname, England ignored his question and asked instead, "What are you still doing here? Didn't you fulfill your 'heroic duty' by carrying me up here and telling France to stay away?" England turned his face up towards America's. "You don't have to stay here any longer, you know. You can leave."

America smirked and winked. "But, _love_, you still have a problem that needs to be fixed, and I'm not talking about that headache of yours."

England's face turned a deep red, and he tried to look away to hide his embarrassment. America caught his chin and pressed a soft kiss to England's cheek. "Did France do that to you or did I?" His voice was low and husky, and it sent a shiver of pleasure right down to England's straining erection. England tried weakly to free himself from America's grasp, but he gave up fighting when the American continued pressing soft kisses to his face and neck.

America's teeth grazed against the sweet spot on England's neck, and the older nation's breath caught. He craned his neck to give America better access, arching into his touch as America's arms wrapped around his waist.

A sigh slipped through England's lips as he felt America's arm moving from around his shoulders and instead twining in his hair. America's fingers tugged lightly at his hair, massaging his scalp and he pressed open-mouthed, wet kisses against any skin that was revealed. England's eyes closed as he shifted so his weight rested against America's side. The heat of his body all but burned through their clothes.

America's mouth returned to England's, pressing against them at first softly, then with increasing urgency as America felt himself getting excited. England moaned as America's tongue slipped through his lips to explore his mouth.

Without warning, America scooped England up in his arms, carrying him to the bed on the other side of the room. England grunted as he was dropped, bouncing a few times before America settled between his legs. Using his arms as a makeshift cage, America leaned down and captured England's lips in a searing kiss, his tongue assaulting the other nation's mouth.

England wrapped his arms around America's neck, entwining his fingers through the younger nation's blonde locks. America nibbled on England's kiss-swollen lips, traveling open-mouthed kisses down to England's collarbone. He nipped and sucked on the exposed skin as he went. England's erection twitched in his pants as America latched on to the dip between his shoulder and his neck, sucking violently. Moaning, England ground his hips against America's, demanding more friction.

"America..." England sighed, arching his back as America's hands began trailing down his chest, popping the buttons free as his fingers danced across his skin.

America hummed against England's skin as he slid the shirt off the other man's shoulders. His mouth and tongue were working their way down England's abdomen, America's chin bumping against his belt. His tongue dipped into England's navel, causing him to shiver at the sensation.

England felt America's fingers fumbling for the belt buckle, felt him tug it out of the belt loops. He heard the soft thud as the belt landed on the floor halfway across the room. But when he felt America's hands undoing his pants and sliding them down his thighs, England seemed to snap back to reality.

"America, what are you - ?" He began.

"Shhh, England," America whispered against his inner thigh. His nose bumped against England's clothed erection and he hummed again. "I'm going to help you forget about your headache."

England opened his mouth to argue, but then America was palming his erection as he kissed, sucked, and nipped at the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. He tossed his head back, biting his lip to try and hold in his moans, but the feeling of America's tongue tracing intricate patterns against his skin - down _there - _forced a throaty, needy moan from the former Empire's lips. He felt America smile against his skin before he slipped his knickers off, tossing them onto the floor with the rest of England's clothes.

America's mouth closed around the heads of England's manhood. The feeling sent shock waves up and down England's nerves as America bobbed his head, taking another inch of England in each time he came down. He hummed against the sensitive organ, grazed his teeth against the underside, and swirled his tongue around the length. England tangled his fingers in America's hair, tugging him closer as he arched his back, feeling that familiar tightening in his stomach, the heat pooling and traveling as he felt his release coming.

And then America's mouth was gone.

England cried out in surprise and agitation, sitting up to see America smirking and licking his lips. His hands rubbed at England's hips, slowly inching closer to his throbbing erection. "We can't have you out of the game just yet, now can we, Arthur?" America asked huskily. The use of England's human name, in that tone of voice, sent another jolt of need right down to his manhood. It twitched, and America smirked, leaning over England and capturing his lips in salty, searing kiss.

England fell back against the bed gently, moaning as America's knee pressed between his legs. He could feel the other man's erection straining against his abdomen. Untangling his hands from America's hand, England quickly did away with America's shirt and tugged at the button of his pants impatiently. America chuckled as his hands joined England's, helping the other nation in his task to rid the American of his clothes.

America moaned as his pants pooled around his knees, freeing his erection from it's confines. His boxers were next to go, and he kicked them off quickly before rutting against the dip of England's hip. He moaned and reached down, intending to pleasure himself and England at the same time by tugging them both to completion. But England smacked his hand away, lacing their fingers together instead and holing America's hand hostage against the bed sheets.

America blinked down the England in confusion before he noticed the other nation reaching for the nightstand. Realization sparked in the American's eyes and his free hand flew to the drawer, yanking it open and searching for the small bottle of lube he knew would be in there. Smirking when his hand closed around the bottle, America pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against England's lips, their tongues battling for dominance.

England snatched the bottle from America's hands, startling him once more. Ignoring his pouts and whines, England popped open the cap and poured a decent amount into America's hand, helping him slick his fingers. America squeezed England's hand with the one that was still being held captive and slipped his lubed-up hand in between England's legs.

When England felt America's fingers playing near his entrance, his spread his legs wider. He bit his lip and locked eyes with America as the first finger was slipped inside. England gasped at the cold, foreign feeling before forcing his muscles to relax. His eyes fluttered shut as America continued preparing him, his lone finger curling inside of England, searching.

Soon, and without warning, the first finger was joined by a second. England gritted his teeth at the slight burn, but soon sighed and moaned when America pumped his fingers and scissored them, stretching the small hole.

It wasn't until the third finger was added that America found what he was looking for: England's sweet spot. The man beneath him arched his back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, a loud and needy moan tearing from his lips. America smirked and prodded at England's prostate a few more times before continuing to scissor his fingers.

America leaned over and captured England's lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping into his mouth and dancing across his gums and teeth. England moaned against America's mouth as he squeezed America's captured hand, his free hand searching for the forgotten bottle of lube. He blindly, messily, poured some out of the tube and coated America's member with the cold substance. The man above him gasped and moaned at the unexpected action, forcing him to lose his concentration and slip his three fingers farther inside England, brushing against him prostate. Bucking his hips, England moaned and panted as he turned his head away, breaking the kiss. A string of saliva connected the two nation's mouths.

America bit his lip in concentration as he slipped his fingers out of the smaller nation, lining up at England's entrance. America's hand immediately flew to England's nipples, rubbing at the small nubs as he slowly pushed the tip of his head inside.

Despite the stretching, America was bigger than three fingers. England gritted his teeth and groaned against the slight burning and the uncomfortable feeling, his grip on America's hand loosening. America slipped his hand free from England's grasp, only for that hand to shoot up and grab at America's bicep. "Don't," England ground out through his clenched teeth, pulling America down and digging his nails into his back and shoulder. America groaned at the feeling, but laid his forehead against England's as he pushed the rest of his length inside.

England captured America's lips in a bruising kiss, nipping harshly at his bottom lip and sucking on his tongue. America moaned against England's mouth, his erection twitching inside the tight heat of the other man. England kissed from America's jaw to his neck, nipping and sucking the skin as he went before latching onto the soft spot between the base of his neck and his shoulder. Thrusting his hips up, England moaned against America's skin as he felt the cock inside him slide impossibly deeper, brushing against his prostate.

Taking the hint, America began thrusting his hips slowly at first, but soon his thrusts were quick and precise, slamming against England's prostate each time he sank back into the tight heat. England's and America's moans filled the room. They gasped each other's names, both human and country, whispered commands, grunted in pleasure. America hissed when England's nails scraped down his back, but the pain only turned him on more.

All too soon, both nation's felt that familiar tightening and the heat pooling in the pit of their stomachs. America reached between the two of them and gripped England's bobbing erection, his hand pumping England until he finished. His walls clenched around America, and the extra pressure sent the other nation over the edge. He emptied himself inside England and then rolled to the side, panting. When he glanced over at England, a mischievous smirk on his face, he laughed when he saw England's face.

England was studying the mess on his abdomen in disdain, a heavy scowl on his face. When England directed that scowl at him, America rolled his eyes and moved so he was crouching over England again, his face level with his spunk-covered abdomen.

"America what are you - ?" England began, but he was cut off as a gasp escaped his lips. America had dipped his head so his tongue was lapping the evidence of their sex off England's front. A bright blush rose to his cheeks and he wanted to push the man off, but the feeling was strangely appealing.

When America was finished with his cleaning, he rest his chin on England's stomach and looked up at him. He was covered in sweat, his hair was a mess, and he was still breathing heavily, but America got the odd feeling that England was rather beautiful when he looked like that.

Instead of voicing his thoughts when England inquired about what he was staring at, however, America laughed loudly once again. "How's that headache, Artie?"

England grimaced. "Gone until you opened your big mouth."

America grinned and planted a kiss against England's sweaty stomach. England was still England, even after sex.

**A/N: This is the longest one-shot I've ever written, and I'm pretty proud of It, despite how long it took me to finish. As I said at the beginning, this was my first attempt at smut, so I would love love **_**love**_** it if you guys sent me a review and let me know what you thought. Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :)**


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